Say It With Flowers
by storypaint
Summary: After Sakura attended Syaoran's wedding to Meiling, she expected never to love again. But someone begins to send her flowers, courting her in secret, and she wonders if maybe she could bloom again. E&S, SyaoMei 3 chaptered fic
1. Chapter 1

Say It With Flowers  
by molten-amber

Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura is the property of CLAMP. All of the floral information on traditional meanings of flowers I got from various websites: About(dot)com and Wikipedia(dot)org, for the most part.

This fic has alternate pairings than canon. If you don't like it, don't read it.

* * *

The week after she got back from the wedding, she got the first bouquet-- jonquils for sympathy, pot marigolds for grief, white poppies for consolation, and a blue iris in the middle of the orangey golds for hope. That's what the flower book said anyway.

When she stepped onto the step that Saturday, the light stabbed her eyes and she gasped a little at the brightness. _It's early as hell if the sun is still rising,_ she thought, feeling pleasantly bad for cursing. That wasn't who she was. She was that girl who believed that everything would turn out right.

Ha. Funny. Her brother stole her first love, her rival had her second, her best friend was away at university, and her loyal guardians were napping. Kero had assured her he'd get up in ten years or so, but he always slept late and in any case that wasn't helping her now.

Her bare foot brushed something damp, soft, and cold, and she yelped. _Probably a slug. I probably squished a slug with my bare foot,_ she thought, but looked down anyway.

There were flowers on her step--orange, yellow, white, and blue. A beautifully arranged bouquet. She nudged it with her foot uncertainly. Who would send her flowers? She felt something hard under the bouquet, so she bent down and picked the flowers up. Underneath was a small book entitled _Flowery Language Is Good: the meaning of flowers_. She picked up the book and went inside.

Half an hour later, when the bouquet was in a vase, a cup of coffee empty on the table, and the meaning of her bouquet deciphered, Sakura looked up at the blooms. Thankfully, the book contained pictures, so she was able to decipher the identity of each flower. And therefore, the meaning.

She rose and went to the vase, grabbing the iris by the stem. Blue irises for hope, the book said. What hope did she have? She grabbed the scissors from a nearby drawer and held them to the stem, to the flower's neck. Maliciously she considered beheading it. Then she set the scissors down, let the flower go, and sighed. She couldn't kill Hope. The card she had created with the powerful emotion rested safely in the desk with Kero. She shut her eyes in pain as she remembered the events leading up to the naming of that card.

"You said I was your number one..." she whispered, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "And then you married her instead, like your clan wanted. But how could you ignore your heart?"

She wiped her tears on the inside of the vase as if to share her pain with the bouquet. From her reading, she had discovered the meaning of Meiling's bouquet.

The orchid, for many children, a long life, and beauty.

Yellow poppies for wealth and success.

Red chrysanthemums for eternal love.

Each felt like another nail in the coffin of Sakura's loneliness. Angrily she grabbed the scissors, cut the head off the iris, and threw it away. The stem sat in the middle of the bouquet like a jagged reminder of her sorrow.

Still, she didn't throw the flowers out until she got the next bouquet.

Two weeks had passed in a daze. Sakura went to work, came home to an empty house, and slept. She began going to bed earlier and earlier, sleeping her days away so that she didn't have to think. Her father didn't notice; he'd been gone for almost a month now on a very important dig. As long as she got his call twice a week, he thought she was fine.

She thought sleeping would dull the pain, and it did for a little while. But her dreams began to focus again on a certain amber-eyed boy and how happy they had been for those two years he'd lived in Tomoeda. That's why she was awake at four a.m., sourly sipping coffee, and she heard the noise of something soft hitting the front step.

Mumbling in irritation, her eyes dark-ringed, she went to see if the newspaper had arrived early and once again nearly crushed a beautiful bouquet. This one had no irises in it, so she glanced around at the quiet suburb, saw no one, and took the bouquet in.

She took the other flowers out of the vase and let them drip into the sink as she put in the new ones: white roses for innocence and beauty; calla lilies for charm, beauty, and grace; hawthorn, again for hope; purple heather for admiration, solitude, and beauty; and a cherry blossom, her own special flower. Was this person trying to court her?

She laughed cheerlessly. It wasn't that she wasn't flattered; it was more like her emotions had been dampened or shut down as a reaction to the pain. If her younger self had seen a glimpse of this future--of "always-cheerful" Kinomoto Sakura dressed in a faded pink bathrobe, coffee mug in hand suggesting that the reader "Shut up until the cup is empty," her hair sticking out all over the place, and a look of pure dejection on her face that appeared permanent--if her younger self had seen this, she would have cried. But here it was.

And apparently, someone thought she was still beautiful. Hmm.

When she came home from work that day, she didn't put the pink bathrobe back on. She upgraded her style to actual pyjamas, reasoning with herself that the bathrobe needed a wash and that perhaps wearing real clothes would be a good idea staying in a house by herself. It would discourage the weirdos like this bouquet boy.

Though he seemed gentlemanly. With the flowers and all.

The third bouquet came the next Saturday--white tulips, meaning 'I am worthy of you'; blue gooseweed, tenacity, 'I am determined to win your love'; golden evening primrose, promising mute devotion, 'Humbly, I adore you'; and daisies sprinkled in for romance and innocence. On the plastic stick that normally told the giver of the bouquet there was a gift certificate for Naples, the best Italian restaurant in town. Under the gift amount (plenty enough for wine and two meals) there was a time written in a hand she didn't recognize.

"Seven p.m.," she said aloud, and wondered if she should go meet her stalker. She ran a hand through her dull brown hair, interested in spite of herself. Then she sighed. Who cared? So he liked to send her flowers--her and how many other girls? Besides, it was Saturday. She hadn't taken a shower today, or gotten out of her pyjamas, or anything...

And why should she? Who was there to impress? Some guy who won't even say that he likes her to her face?

Carefully trying to ignore how much this looked like hope, she tucked the card into her purse and put the flowers in her vase.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Say It With Flowers

by molten-amber

Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura is the property of CLAMP. All of the floral information on traditional meanings of flowers I got from various webpages, including about(dot)com, usatoday(dot)com and wikipedia(dot)org.

This fic has alternate pairings than canon. That was the pointof the writing exercise. If you don't like E&S and SyaoMei, don't read it.

* * *

It was seven-thirty when she crept into Naples, hating her weakness. She didn't have to come just because some guy bought her flowers. She didn't have to have a guy in her life. And Kinomoto Sakura didn't do pity dates.

"Why am I here again?" she mumbled to herself. She wandered through the restaurant and nothing stuck out at her. There weren't beautiful flowers decorating a specific table, nor did a handsome stranger grab her hand as she passed. He was scared, he had left, or he'd never shown.

She sighed exaggeratedly to convince herself that it didn't matter, and sat down in a booth by herself. She fished the gift card out of her purse and studied the handwriting. There wasn't much she could learn from the few penstrokes he had left.

When the waitress came she was surprised to see such a beautiful young lady sitting alone, but she knew better than to comment, especially when the girl ordered a glass of wine without looking up from the table. When she brought the drink back the girl looked up at her and thanked her with a dead voice.

The waitress took her food order and then walked away, making a note to keep an eye on the girl. This was a weird place to come to drink, but you never know these days.

Sakura had been sitting by herself feeling stupid for about half an hour when the lump in her throat arose. _I'm going to cry in public_, she thought. _The wine has made me weepy. Or could it perhaps be that I lost the love of my life and some flowery bastard is screwing with me?_

She knocked her head against the booth once, and then rested her head there on the smooth plastic. It was cool and somewhat comforting. She hoped that no one she knew was here. She hoped that they didn't kick her out when she started crying. She sniffled and then she heard the voices rising in volume from two booths down.

"I can't do this anymore! I can't play these games, Hiiragizawa Eriol! Either you put off that know-everything act and that self-satisfied smirk, or I am out of here!"

"I believe that you were going to leave in any case as soon as I admitted that I am not in fact heir to a large fortune like the British men in the trashy romance novels you always read. I am just a poor musician with no sense of proper romance."

"Oh, I hate you!" the girl screamed. She came past Sakura's booth, her long angry stride showing off her shapely legs, her long dark hair screaming out behind her. She had the look of a girl who cared much more about appearances than personality, and so was herself balanced in the material world.

_Not Eriol's type_, Sakura thought dully. She took a moment to wonder when he had returned to Japan. Their correspondence had become sporadic over the years, and she couldn't remember hearing from him in the past year or two. She hoped that when he left he wouldn't see her--it would probably make him re-think giving the guardianship of his beloved cards to her. Color came to her cheeks.

Not that she looked bad--she'd actually dressed up a little for this pity date, or whatever it was--an excuse to have a few drinks alone, she supposed. She was wearing a dress Tomoyo had sent her from her design college--every time the budding fashion designer came home on holiday she took Sakura's measurements again and continued to make dresses and other clothes in her size. Sakura had long since given up wearing the ridiculous things, though sometimes she put one on when Tomoyo was at home. The one she was wearing wasn't actually too bad--something from Tomoyo's minimalist period. It was rose pink and fastened over her left shoulder like a toga, but it was cut closer to her body.

She picked up the bruschetta she'd ordered with her wine and picked off a few pieces of tomato, and ate them. Might as well not waste a free meal, right?

"Kinomoto Sakura!" a male voice said, sounding pleased and surprised to see her. She looked up into Eriol's grinning face. _The older he gets, the more he resembles Clow_, she thought. His face had narrowed and he'd perfected Clow's smile, though it was less smirky than when they were young and more genuine.

"How have you been, Eriol-san?" she asked, trying to muster enthusiasm. He had to notice how much she'd changed since he left--and not for the better. She knew he probably wouldn't say anything, but she hated being pitied.

"About as good as you've been," he said and sank into the booth across from her. He took hold of her wine glass where the cup met the stem and pulled in a strange way until he held a separate glass of his own. He lifted his eyebrows and looked at her, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines beginning to appear on his forehead.

"May I?" he said, gesturing to the bottle of wine the waitress had brought her when she asked for a refill. She nodded and he poured them both generous cups. They both sipped deeply.

"So what brings you back to Japan?" she asked him, watching his fingers cup the glass. She could tell he still played piano, and it looked like guitar as well. Those long pale fingers were roughened with calluses.

"Kaho got married," he said, "and I decided to move out. It would have been an awkward situation, otherwise. I guess I've been here back about two years now... Haven't looked anyone up from the old days. Figured they were living their own loves and lives now." He smiled a little, and she could see the pain that her former teacher had caused him. He swallowed the rest of his glass in a hurry. He leaned back in the booth and looked up at the ceiling. The light glinted off his glasses. She supposed that he didn't want her to read his eyes.

"I heard that Li-kun got married," Eriol said. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. Where did that famous British politeness go? The wine had started to dull the thoughts a little but his casual words ripped her back open. It hurt so much she put her hand to her chest, expecting to find blood.

"Yeah," she said in a husky voice as the tears rose in her throat. She took another sip of wine. Well, not a sip really. She downed the rest of her glass.

"You went, didn't you?" he said. She nodded and pressed her face into her forearm. He leaned forward and pressed his palm on her arm affectionately.

"I went to hers," he said. "In fact," he said and laughed, "I was the man of honor. She said there was no woman she loved more than I, whom she loved like a brother, to take that honored place."

"Meiling asked me to be a bridesmaid," Sakura mumbled into her arm and tasted the tears that had leaked somehow from her eyes. "But I said no."

She knew Meiling meant well, but Sakura couldn't make herself do it. Syaoran had four sisters that stood up with them instead.

"You were stronger than I was, then," Eriol said. "I kept thinking that maybe in the middle she would turn to me--like when she gave me her bouquet to hold, or when she had to say the words--and say, maybe, that this was all a joke. That she still loved me. That this guy she was standing there with was wrong and that I needed to get up and take his place. And I watched her every moment. Lord, she was beautiful in that dress. A moon angel, a female Yue. And she never looked away from his smiling face. She really loved him. I got really drunk that night," he said reflectively.

Sakura wiped her eyes and scooted to the end of the booth. "I'm sorry, Eriol," she said softly. "I guess love isn't as simple as we thought it was, all those years ago."

"I guess not," Eriol said placidly. He took his glasses off and began to clean them. "So why are you here tonight, Kinomoto-san?"

Sakura shrugged. "I had this idea that maybe my invincible spell still worked."

"But doesn't it?" Eriol said. "You met a friend when you were down. That's all one needs, sometimes."

"I should go home," Sakura said, though she hated the idea of the empty house and the slight thump behind her eyes that warned of a slight hangover in the morning.

"Let me walk you home," he said. It was a glimpse of the old him and his old-fashioned gallantry. She nodded. She hoped she wouldn't throw up in front of him. There was still part of her that wanted to impress him.

Gently he placed his hand at her elbow and helped her out the door. The waitress stared after them. They had left the amount of the bill to the yen on a gift card on the table, without ever receiving the check. That made her a little curious. But she was thankful that someone had finally showed up who would take care of that poor girl.

Eriol decided that neither of them were safe to drive, and they were about halfway to Sakura's house when she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Eriol, I don't want to go home," she said.

"Touya and Fugitaka will be worried," he said practically. She sagged a little in his grasp. Carefully he adjusted the amount of alcohol in his blood to almost nothing. The benefits of being a reincarnated magician...

"Touya's been out of the house for several years now, and my dad's on a dig," she said. She sank down onto her knees and he put a hand on her shoulder protectively.

"Eriol, is life supposed to hurt like this?" she asked. He crouched down at eye level to her.

"Sometimes," he said regretfully.

She drew a quick breath and shouted to the sky, "IT'S NOT ALL GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT!"

"Nonsense," Eriol said as she began sobbing and collapsed into his chest. "There was a reason I called it your invincible spell."

She hit him hard in the breastbone, enough to make him gasp. With more strength than one would guess in that skinny body, he picked her up and cradled her like a child. He muttered something in Chinese and the Cardmistress fell asleep, no resistance.

He took her to her house and tucked her into bed. In sleep her worries relaxed and she looked like the old Sakura again.

"You'll be all right," he whispered, kissed her on the forehead, and went home to his own lonely house.


	3. Chapter 3

Say It With Flowers

by molten-amber

Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura is the property of CLAMP. All of the floral information on traditional meanings of flowers I got from these webpages: About: Mother's Day, USA Bride, and Wikipedia article: Language of Flowers. The poem quoted in this chapter was written by Lady Heguri.

* * *

He wondered what it was that had made him send the first bouquet. A variety of reasons, he supposed--he didn't want her to know who he was, so cowardice; he wanted her to feel like someone cared, so sympathy; he knew she loved flowers, so practicality. Oh, and love.

He could feel himself blush even though he was alone. In fact, that was the only time he let himself relax and show the truth. He loved Kinomoto Sakura. And not as Clow had supposed he would, as a daughter.

That thought made him feel guilty, and then a little amused that his former self had been wrong on another point, and that it was about love again. He got the feeling that Clow didn't understand love--real human love. His guardians had loved him, as they were made to, and a few women over the years, but Clow had always been bemused by it. Love fascinated him in its gritty reality, in its unpredictability. It was the one thing he could never predict truly.

_I guess the divorce proved that,_ a voice in his head that rarely spoke anymore said placidly, and Eriol got a glimpse of memory--a woman with dark hair and a door slamming behind her. Then the presence was gone.

Eriol rose from his Throne O' Ultimate Evil (dubbed so by Nakuru, and somehow it had stuck) and strode over to the bookcase. He pulled out a well-worn tome (the novel _Pride and Prejudice_, one of his guilty pleasures) and took a photograph from between its pages. Kinomoto Sakura grinned back at him with her arm wrapped around his younger self in a photo taken only a few days before he had returned to England and his susequent betrayal. Sakura's cheery letters had helped him through the rainy days, but he had gently lessened correspondence when Li-kun had returned from Hong Kong. He didn't want to interfere with their relationship this time; the confession was over and no more needed to be done on his part. The letters had abruptly ceased when Li returned to Hong Kong for the second time. It was Tomoyo who had informed him when Li announced his decision to marry Meiling, sending a short and polite postcard. She seemed to blame him partially, though he couldn't understand why. Li-kun and Meiling-san themselves had sent a wedding invitation, but he had declined.

He didn't know when he had fallen in love with the Cardmistress. All he knew was that he didn't want to make her unhappy. When she was with Li-kun, her letters were full of love and sunshine, and he would fall asleep in his Throne O' Extreme Evil sometimes with one clutched to his chest, feeling almost as though he were in Japan again. He didn't tell her about Kaho; he wrote fun and meaningless things about taking Nakuru to the zoo or sewing Spinelsun a sun hat, just to annoy the guardian. He had spent a lot of time lying about who he was and he was good at it; she never suspected.

When he received Tomoyo's postcard, he had cried for Sakura, knowing that her pain was probably even greater than his was most of the time. He wasn't surprised when she stopped writing. He knew how it was to lose all motivation.

When he got the wedding invitation, he couldn't resist his desires any longer and had come back to Tomoeda. His guardians had made no protest. He may not have told them he was in love, but they knew. Nakuru read his journal regularly (he tried to keep it interesting for her) and Spinelsun was observant.

He had searched for a way to approach her after all this time, but nothing seemed right. How did one approach a heartbroken childhood friend and offer her another love entirely? Very carefully, he decided. So he sent her the first bouquet and the flower guide. Flowers were classy, he thought. Sometimes they were better than words in getting one's point across.

When she tore up the iris, he was a little perturbed. He had been scrying her from his home, curious beyond belief to see her reaction. He saw how much pain she still felt and again he wept for her.

The only thing to do now, he believed, was to restore her faith in her invincible spell. At the moment, Sakura couldn't love anyone, even her family. It was killing her inside and even weakening her magic. Keroberos slept very soundly in the Clow book, and Sakura was alone.

He set out to remedy her loneliness and declare his suit. Why not say it with flowers?

The next bouquet arrived the next morning like nothing had happened. It held blue forget-me-nots (how ironic, Sakura thought sourly) that meant "I cannot be without you"; several blue irises this time for hope, blue veronica for fidelity, with a sprinkling of white roses for innocence, purity, beauty and charm. Angered, she threw the flowers in the trash, and there they stayed all week, shining at her every time she opened the lid.

Eriol called to check up on her. Initially the conversation was awkward. She was embarrassed by her behavior at the restaurant. Eriol was his usual smooth self and soon they were speaking as though it were old times. She told him all the things he had missed while in England--Yamazaki and Chiharu's wedding, just days after they graduated high school; the shock they received when Rika finally revealed the name of the person who gave her the engagement ring; Tomoyo's acceptance to design school in Tokyo and susequent departure there. There was plenty to discuss.

"Would you like to come over for a while?" he offered finally. "Ever since I told Nakuru and Spinelsun that I saw you yesterday, a certain moon guardian has been pestering me to see you and her counterparts."

"I... well...," Sakura said, "Kero-chan is asleep for the next decade or so, he told me. And Yuki moved with my brother into their own home. Yue sleeps most of the time as well, Yuki says. But I'll come see you... and them."

She found herself anticipating it as she drove. Eriol always found something cheerful to say...

_'Your invincible spell,'_ she thought, recalling Eriol's words. Could her optimism be coming back?

She thought of the flowers in the trash can and decided not. Why did it matter, the philosophies she held as a young girl? Things are so much more complicated now...

She was greeted at the door by Eriol alone, smiling apologetically. She noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses today--contacts, she supposed. His eyes were more intoxicating unfiltered by glass. She knew that the glasses helped Eriol be inscrutable--one sees a lot less due to the simple reflection--and she appreciated quietly that he trusted her.

"I am afraid," he said, "that Nakuru has finally overreached herself in torturing her co-guardian, and that I had to lock both of them in separate rooms to prevent Spinelsun from committing murder, so it's only us for right now."

Sakura nodded. To be honest, she hadn't been looking forward to Nakuru's persistent questioning or Spinel's tart remarks. She would just hang out with Eriol. His presence was familiar and relaxing, just like it used to be.

"I thought perhaps we could have tea on the porch," he said. "My garden is blooming and it's quite a sight."

Was she ever going to escape these flowers? What was up with people and their obsession with nature?

Sakura reminded herself that Eriol had no idea about her sudden animosity to petaled plants, and nodded. She didn't go outside much anymore. Her mother's garden was a jungle, in fact. Her father had carefully maintained it all these years, but he had left at the height of the growing season and Sakura had felt no motivation to take care of it herself, not even to honor the memories. Sometimes she grew weary of her father's ritualistic mourning. It seemed he wanted everything as it was when Nadeshiko died, as though she were going to come back and scold him for rearranging the furniture or not feeding the children the proper brand of rice. The last time Fugitaka had bought a new armchair it sat in their living room like a stranger invading their territory. She never saw her father sit there. He would rather sit on the worn couch and remember the way his wife would lean back on his shoulder as they watched television.

As she was thinking Eriol gently took her arm and led her through his house to the back porch. There were flowers in vases scattered all over the place. He seemed very fond of white roses and of vases obviously crafted by Nakuru in several clashing shades of color and lopsided shapes. The one on the table on the back porch said "I LOVE MY MASTER" in large, decorative, English letters, not that Sakura knew that. It was one of the first ones Nakuru had created, not long after she was made. He had created her with a childlike spirit, in order to have something to care for beyond himself, and when she learned of the custom of Father's Day she had decided to celebrate it as only she would. It was his favorite gift from her, even though he was picking clay out of her hair for days after she'd tried making Suppi into a mold for her leftover clay.

Sakura seemed a little better than she had when he'd met her last week, he thought. Or perhaps he was happier. His fingertips on her upper arm guiding her seemed gentlemanly, he knew, but her skin made his skin tingle in response.

_I've got it bad,_ he thought wryly. He could feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks, but fortunately he had to let her go to pull out her chair.

"Thank you," she said softly. She reached out and left her fingers trace the letters on the vase as Eriol went to get the tea. She looked out into the garden. It looked as though Eriol let things grow as they would, the ivy creeping underneath the flowering trees, the daffodils and daisies cheerily fighting for sunshine.

He came back with their tea on a tray and beside her cup lay a single yellow rose, streaked at the tip of each petal with a delicate red. She took her tea and the flower in the other hand, running her fingertips across the stem, carefully avoiding thorns but feeling the soft prickle of the small ones.

They spoke easily together and she found that she enjoyed being able to read Eriol's expressions. He seemed more sincere. She found herself slipping into her old enthusiasm as she told him about her life since he had left. She'd played volleyball in high school and their team had gone to the championship in Tokyo her sophomore year. Somewhat hesitantly she told him that she had invited Syaoran to watch her play. He said he would try and come and she had played her best that day for him, certain he was in the audience, but he hadn't been and she had cried that night quietly in her hotel room. It was something she hadn't shared with anyone before, not even Tomoyo, but she saw the understanding and the sympathy he felt for her. And there was Chiharu's wedding, which she had fled early, missing Syaoran so much that she had nearly bought plane tickets to Hong Kong. He was still trying to get approval to be with her, he said regretfully in reply to her hasty, tear-stained letter. She could feel the hopelessness in his words and in the smallest smear in the character for her name. It was one of the last letters he wrote her and she had carried it with her for months, trying to press hope into the pages and praying for a miracle.

"'A thousand years, you said, as our hearts melted. I look at the hand you held, and the ache is hard to bear,'" Eriol said quietly. "By Lady Heguri. Would you like to walk through my garden?"

He rose and offered his hand, and when she gave hers to him he bent over and kissed it, a slight brush of lips on the back of her hand that nonetheless sent goosebumps down her spine. How long had it been since she had been given affection like this? He stood straight and took her hand as they began to walk through his garden. She entwined their fingers. His were long and a little rough. Something about it felt familiar. Had she ever held his hand before?

She liked it. In his hands, she felt safe.

"I love gardens," Eriol said fondly. "Nature is such an amazing woman. She doesn't use magic to make her plants grow. I believe," he said, and looked at her with a smile in his eyes, "that a flower is the most magical thing there is on this planet. From whom does it take aid or direction? From whom does it learn to grow petals and thorns? Someone much greater than you or I. Clow loved them too, for this reason."

Sakura took the rose she had been holding and touched it to Eriol's cheek. She was rewarded with a look of surprise--she always found it amusing when she could surprise the wise magician--and a flush across his alabaster skin.

"And flowers can have so many meanings, too," she said. "When you were in England, did you study the language of flowers?"

Gently he let go of her hand and took her rose from her. He ran his fingers down the stem with a touch of power, removing the thorns, and threaded it into her chestnut locks. It rested above her ear. She smiled like she used to when she was a child and he was overcome by her beauty.

"Not in England, but I have dabbled in the subject," he said lightly. He took her hand again and led her over into the shade of a tree. They sat down in the grass and Sakura looked up into the branches. She smiled.

"Like when we met," she said. "So many years ago..."

"Only a decade," he replied. "But it feels like a life ago to you, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she replied.

"In Victorian times," Eriol said, "Flowers were the language of the gentility. They oppressed their feelings--it was the way of the times." He glanced at her and then squeezed his hands in his lap. It didn't seem to be something he was conscious of. "King Charles the second brought the custom over from Sweden in the 1600s, and it caught on in England while Queen Victoria ruled. Everything was about appearance--one had to appear exactly the way one should, or suffer socially. But with flowers--they were beautiful, they were safe. They didn't have to convey a meaning unless the giver wanted them to. Young people in love traded red roses; gentlemen in courtship offered blooms before their hand. It was thought romantic."

Here he seemed to stop abruptly, warring with himself. "It wasn't," he said finally. "It was cowardly. To offer your suit without any risk."

"It wasn't cowardly," Sakura said firmly. She wasn't sure why she was disagreeing, except on principle. She didn't want to believe that lovers were cowardly. "Just because your words could be misinterpreted didn't mean it wasn't a risk for the gentleman to give them. A striped carnation is still a no, words or not. There was always a chance that someone wasn't ready to love you yet.

"Eriol, have you been courting me with flowers?"

He couldn't conceal his shocked face quickly enough. She laughed a little inside, pleased that she had changed since he had left. Naive Sakura was no more, or rather much less naive than she had been. She'd learned that love wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. It was also risk and waiting and confusion.

"I wouldn't dream of interfering with your mourning," he said carefully in case she was upset with him. "I admit to trying to cheer you up..."

She leaned over inches from his face and stared furiously into those intoxicating indigo eyes. Then she leaned back, pulled the flower from her hair, and covered it in ice. She had magic beyond the Cards; they didn't use half of the power she had now. She used to practice without them whenever possible, in case there was some kind of test to marry a clan head. She wanted to be good enough for him.

Now she had to be good enough for herself. It was harder.

She pressed the ice rose against Eriol's lips and when he gasped at the cold she put a frozen petal in his mouth. She watched the ice begin to dissolve and let the flower go.

"My heart right now is cold from neglect, and icy, and I don't know where my feelings are," she said. "I don't know if they are frozen and if I melt the ice that they'll return. I might melt the ice and find there's nothing left at all... I don't know how I feel for you, Eriol. But if you'll quit giving me flowers and start showing me the feelings that those bouquets stand for, then maybe we'll find out about the ice."

She leaned forward and kissed him gently where the rose had been and his lips were still cold. He didn't react quickly enough to reciprocate. She climbed to her feet and leaned back against the tree. He could see that she was crying.

"Sakura, I--" he began, then stopped. "I-- I don't want you to cry."

"I don't think I'm crying," she said. "I think the ice is beginning to melt." She smiled and it was the ghost of a trademark Sakura smile, but it was a special Sakura smile anyway, the one she wore on the photo in his novel. It was the smile that made whoever was on the receiving end feel special.

"Can I see you next week?" she asked. He nodded and took her arm.

And the ice rose lay there on the green grass and began to melt.

END


End file.
